I set the drink down at the table and turn to see who it is. Standing in the entryway is Sebastian, dressed in a crisp navy coat with silver embroidery. His brown hair is slightly disheveled from the wind, yet his expression is relaxed.
“Hello, Sebastian.” I cross the room to him.
“You work at the Whispering Willow?” Sebastian asks suspiciously.
“I do," I reply vaguely. We don’t know each other well enough to have a detailed conversation with so many people around us. “Do you visit often?”
“It’s a peculiar place,” he comments. “I’ll enjoy it more now that your beauty graces it.”
His coquetry makes me giggle, and I let his dashing lookscaptivate me for just a moment before refocusing on my work. “Enjoy your evening, Sebastian.”
“You as well,” he replies, sitting at the table with the three gossiping soldiers.
Moving around to each table, I check in on the patrons. Some make small talk with me as I work. The rumble of activity dwindles as the fast-paced rush slows. I pick up six empty tankards and carry them to the bartop for Alastor to clean.
“You ain’t so bad,” Alastor grumbles.
“Truly?” I say with excitement.
“Come back in two days at noon,” he replies, placing three coins on the bartop and sliding them over to me.
Plucking the coins from the surface, I tuck them into my satchel. “Thank you!”
Alastor grunts in place of a response.
Turning, I leave the Whispering Willow with a newfound sense of accomplishment. Having some money will allow me to bribe people, forming an elaborate web of knowledge. I don’t know exactly how I’ll use the information yet, what quiet uttering will become my golden ticket, but I do know that what is happening around me is vital to my survival.
The east side of town is more scrappy and arduous than the streets near the castle. A foul stench lingers in the air. In a nearby alley, I see two cloaked figures with thick black hoods over their heads. They speak in quiet tones and exchange something between them in the shadows.
Someone cuts off my path, stepping in front of me. “You! Halfling girl.” Their raspy voice startles me. “Lookin’ for a cursed object? Or how ‘bout an elixir?”
The man has one eye, the other covered with an eyepatch. He sneers at me. His clothing is ragged, frayed at the edges. Behind him is a worn-down cart filled with strange-lookingobjects and trinkets, glowing crystals, and various glass jars with swirling liquids.
“No… I don’t need to curse anyone,” I reply hesitantly, stepping away from the peculiar merchant.
A nearby tent opens, and a woman saunters out. She wears a rumpled dress, her hair a mess of tangles, as she wipes the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. Her eyes meet mine, and I can see a quizzical expression on her face as she watches me.
She is beautiful, like a dangerous seductress. Dark brown eyes. Long brunette hair. Cheeks dotted with dozens of freckles that complement her pale skin. Her bodice and dress hug every one of her curves, a ruinous temptation from every angle.
“That ain’t for you.” The merchant blocks my line of sight with his body. “Less you lookin’ to make a lil’ extra coin… awfully pretty for a halfling.”
A strike of fear shoots through me. I nearly sprint away, needing to flee as soon as possible. I get a short distance down the street before a little girl approaches me, holding a dented tin cup.
“Got a spare coin… lady?” the little girl asks. She is frail and unkempt, her thin frame barely filling out the tattered clothes that hang loosely around her. Strands of frizzy brunette hair frame her dirt-smudged face as she begs for money.
“How old are you?” I ask softly, placing my hands on my knees and bending down to look at her closely.
“Twelve,” she replies, still holding the tin out for me.
“What’s your name?”
“Violet.”
“You quit talkin’ to me daughter!” someone yells at me from across the street.
Standing, I turn and look for the source of the voice. An old man sits on the ground with his legs crossed, equallydowntrodden in appearance. He’s doing nothing, while his small daughter begs for coins in the street. Another girl sits beside him, this one slightly older. She has tears streaming down her cheeks, wiping her face with the heel of her palm.
“Father, please?—”
